


Cloudy Skies

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, aerophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, Dean,” Castiel begins, “dare I ask about your terrible fear of flying?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cloudy Skies

They’ve been sitting on the runway for half an hour now, and Dean’s pretty sure he’s going to regurgitate the contents of his stomach if something doesn’t happen soon. He rubs his sweaty hands on his jeans, jiggles his feet against the floor. 

Outside the weather is grey – cloudy – and Dean knows that means bad business up in the sky. There’ll be turbulence, and the though makes him even more nauseous. It’s times like these Dean wishes Sammy had chosen a place to live that wasn’t all the way across the goddamn country; he would’ve driven – would’ve given _anything_ to be able to drive – but he could only get so much time off work.

He flops his head back against the seat, lets out a long, shaky breath. “You can do this,” he mutters to himself. “Pull yourself together, Dean.”

Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t work, and Dean gouges the heels of his hands into his eyeballs in frustration. 

The air in the craft is growing stuffy – stale with the odour of two hundred or more impatient bodies. He swivels his head, intending to stave off his anxiety with a bit of people watching, but instead he comes face to face with the man sitting beside him – a blue-eyed Adonis who is staring at him with unwavering intensity.

Dean startles and pulls back a little, flushed and disconcerted. The man blinks, lowering and raising his eyelids with decisive slowness, and he quirks one eyebrow up like _he’s_ the one who’s just caught a stranger staring at him.

Dean clears his throat, tries to act natural. “See something you like?” he says, but his voice comes out a little more breathless than usual. And not in the good way.

The man looks confused, but totally and completely relaxed, and Dean finds himself brimming with unbridled jealousy. 

“I was merely observing your noticeable discomfort,” the man says, and wow, this guy might be hot but he sure is a dick.

Dean fiddles with the seam of his jeans. “Yeah, well, observe somewhere else,” he says with a slightly queasy lilt to his voice.

He starts to regret his words when the man’s face falls, crumpling like a sweet wrapper in the hands of a child. His mouth curls into a frown of fucking _mournful_ proportions, and Dean backtracks immediately. “Sorry,” he stutters, “I didn’t mean–“

The man holds up a hand to halt Dean and shakes his head. “No, no,” he says, “that was imprudent; forgive me.” He lowers his hand, holds it out for Dean to shake. “Castiel Novak,” he offers.

Dean glances at Castiel’s hand, wipes his own on his jeans once again, and with a nervous laugh grips Castiel’s, shakes firmly but briefly. “Dean Winchester.”

Castiel _beams_ , and Dean momentarily forgets where he is because it’s so goddamn beautiful. He forces himself not to gape, offers up a tentative smile in return. 

“So, Dean,” Castiel begins, “dare I ask about your terrible fear of flying?”

Dean grimaces, looks down at his feet. “It’s a pain in the ass, is what it is.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Castiel leans towards him a little bit, eyes bright with something Dean can’t identify – concern, perhaps.

“Nah,” he says. “It’s just one of those things, y’know? Just gotta suck it up.”

Castiel chuckles. “If you say so.”

At that moment the intercom buzzes to life and the captain’s voice is heard over the hubbub announcing their imminent departure. Dean sucks in a breath, curls his fingers around his knees in sickening anticipation. Beside him, Castiel hums thoughtfully, and Dean meets his eye, attempts a reassuring grin. By the look on Castiel’s face, Dean guesses it wasn’t very convincing.

The plane lurches into movement, reverses away from the terminal and starts heading out towards the runway. Dean fights back a wave of nausea, tries to calm his jittery nerves by breathing in and out slowly.

Just before the take off the plane pauses briefly, and Dean takes a moment to shut his eyes and lean as far back as he can. He feels movement beside him, and Castiel’s voice floats into his ear. “It’s alright,” he murmurs, and his voice is as deep as a goddamn ravine.

Without warning the plane begins accelerating, and pretty soon it’s hurtling along at such speed it’s all Dean can do to clamp his hands over the armrests and hold the fuck on.

They lift off the ground and Dean hisses at the feeling; he grips with his hands until his fingers are as white as bone.

When they start to level he lets out the breath he’d been holding and loosens the grip of his fingers a little. It’s then that he notices his mistake.

He hadn’t accounted, of course, for the possibility that Castiel’s hand may have been on the armrest too, and Dean realises that he has inadvertently grabbed Castiel and held on for dear life.

He squints his eyes open gradually and glances over at Castiel. The man is watching Dean with impassivity, his hand warm and still beneath Dean’s own clammy one.

Sheepishly, Dean pulls his fingers away. “Shit,” he says. “Sorry.”

“It’s quite alright,” Castiel assures him, and Dean groans, runs a hand through his hair. 

“I promise I’m not usually this twitchy,” he says, though he’s not even sure why it _matters_ ; he’s probably never going to see the guy again after this flight.

He chalks the slight sinking feeling in his stomach up to the movement of the plane and lies back, glances out the window.

There’s nothing to be seen but grey cloud – pressing against the window like the mouth of some great beast.

“It’ll clear up over Missouri,” Castiel tells him, and Dean turns to face him.

“You think?”

He nods, gazing past Dean and out the window as if he can see some shape or other in the fog. At length he flicks his eyes back to Dean and smiles. “Tell me about yourself then,” he says, voice quiet amid the rumble of the engine. “Are you on your way home?” 

Dean’s eyes light up and he shakes his head. “Nope, my little brother’s getting married; I’m flying to California for the wedding.” He grins. “Can’t believe that nerd’s actually getting hitched.”

“Are you and your brother close?”

Dean shifts in his seat, frowns. “Yeah, I mean–“ he sighs. “We live on opposite sides of the country, but he’s my little brother, y’know?” 

Cas laughs. “Actually,” he says, “I’m the youngest of six.” 

Dean’s eyebrows jerk upwards. “Wow, no kidding.” 

“Thanksgiving’s are a nightmare,” Castiel deadpans.

Dean chokes, bursts into laughter. “Jesus _Christ_ ,” he splutters. “You’re serious aren’t you?”

Castiel grins. “Deathly.”

The plane takes that moment to plummet ten feet, and Dean lets out a very emasculating squeak. He clamps his eyes shut again, braces his feet against the floor as the aircraft enters a patch of nasty turbulence.

“Hey,” Castiel murmurs. “Dean, it’s alright. Look out the window.”

Dean snorts. “No way.”

There’s a shuffling noise and then a gentle pressure alights on Dean’s face. A hand, he realises – _Castiel’s_ hand – this guy sure doesn’t hold back on the personal space front.

He feels a thumb brush over his jawline, and Castiel’s voice rumbles in his ear. “So look at me instead,” he says, and Dean, well Dean _really_ wants to, only he can’t seem to open his eyes.

He laughs, nervous, but is stopped short when the plane gives another unpleasant lurch. Something curls around his hand and starts to rub soothing circles onto his skin. 

“Dean, open your eyes.”

He breathes in slow, and then out. Opens one eye, then the other.

He’s sort of expecting it, but it’s still a shock when he finds himself staring right into Castiel’s eyes – his face so close Dean can see the small tears in the skin of his lips.

Castiel’s looking at him with wide eyes, and Dean’s cheeks burn traitorously under his gaze. He clears his throat, tries to relax his tense limbs. “Castiel,” he says, “please tell me you don’t live in California.”

The thumb touching his jaw moves to slide over the bump of Dean’s lip, and the gesture is so intimate that Dean can’t help but wonder what the hell he’s doing letting a strange man put his hands all over Dean’s face. But the feel of his fingers is so familiar, and his face so kind, that Dean can’t help but wonder if he knows Castiel from somewhere else – another life, perhaps. Not that Dean believes in any of that.

Castiel sweeps his thumb over the curve of Dean’s cheek one more time before dropping his hand. “No.” He cups Dean’s hand in both his own. “I don’t live in California.”

“Good,” Dean says. “That’s – good.” He smirks, but the effect is lost when the plane dips down and Castiel has to squeeze Dean’s hand to keep him from having a heart attack.

Dean winces when he realises how he must look. “I probably seem like a hot mess to you right now, huh?”

“You look like you might’ve had better days; but you are beautiful nonetheless.” And damn if that isn’t the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to him.

“You sure know how to charm a guy, Cas.”

Cas laughs. “Unfortunately I couldn’t say the same about you.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Dean growls. “I am plenty charming. Get me a suit and some freaking _ground_ to put my feet on and I’ll charm you right out of those pants before you even know what’s happening.”

“Is that a promise, Mr Winchester?” There’s a twinkle in Cas’ eye, and Dean winks, grins with playful abandon.

“You’re damn right it’s a promise,” he says.

And Dean _always_ keeps his promises. 

**Author's Note:**

> wexchester.tumblr.com


End file.
